


The Honourable Member for Erebor

by bowyer



Series: Speaker's Corner; A Hobbit Political AU [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, British Politics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Past Child Abuse, yes i am slightly odd, yes i am writing a story where Thorin is the MP for Erebor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowyer/pseuds/bowyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Thorin Oakenshield MP wants is a quiet life: to sort out the terribly unreliable Eagle buses, to make sure the Elvish Party don't win in the next election and to have <i>one week</i> where the stupid computers (who calls an electoral system "Gandalf" anyway?) don't crash on him.</p><p>Unfortunately for him, his evil nephews like terrorising his intern, Smaug the printer regularly eats his monthly Arkenstone newsletter, and a strange man who doesn't talk has started camping out on his steps.</p><p>(aka Thorin-the-overworked-constituency-MP au.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sandwiches, Envelopes and the Goblin King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



“Thorin, there’s a man sitting on the stairs.”

“He’s been there for ages.” Ori looks up from the envelopes he’s addressing. “I offered him tea, but I don’t think he understood me.”

"Is he bothering you?" Thorin doesn't look up from his computer screen. "Is he violent?" He picks up his coffee. "Take your jacket off your brother's head."

"Huh, wha-" Kili looks up just as Fili dumps his jacket over his little brother. "You're childish and immature and I hate you."

"Sackville-Bagginses been in yet?"

"We're betting around eleven." Nori leans back in his chair. "What do we think this week? Trying to get their neighbour evicted because of noise pollution?"

"Fifty pence on it being for unhygienic living standards." Ori pipes up, a pen clutched firmly between his teeth. "Rats! As big as your head!"

"He's a terrorist." Kili says as he slides his own fifty pence across the table. Kili hasn't exactly got the hang of placing bets on constituents yet. It's a good thing Thorin only lets them bet small amounts. (Fili's about 98% sure that Bilbo Baggins isn't a terrorist, and also 70% sure that you can't lose a house for being a terrorist.)

Thorin drags his gaze away from the computer screen. It's only half nine in the morning, but his eyes are scored into his head and Fili can count at least three new grey hairs since last week. "Brothel."

"Fifty pence!"

"He's still outside." Balin comes in with the post.

"Is he violent?" Thorin repeats. 

"Could be. The lad's got one hell of a scar." He taps the side of his head.

“You should go talk to him.” Nori piles the coins neatly by the pen pot at the side of his computer (Kili paid entirely in coppers, as he does every week), before returning to his computer. “It’d look good in the papers. _Local MP helps out mentalist hobo._ ”

“Nori!” Ori sounds scandalised.

“I don’t think he’s a hobo.” Balin says thoughtfully. “He’s rather neatly dressed. Thorin, ten o'clock."

“I can’t,” Thorin rises to his feet at Balin’s call. “I’ve got surgeries. Fili, do you want to…?”

“Why me?” Fili squawks. 

“Either you or Nori.” His uncle pulls his jacket back on and does the button up. “Someone I’m _paying_ to be here, anyway - _sit down and get back to the envelopes, Kili._ ”

Fili looks hopefully at Nori.

“Has anyone lost a vulnerable adult?” Nori says, his one finger typing emphasising the words. “We have a gentleman here who seems confused.”

With a sigh, Fili grabs his coffee. “I fucking hate you, Nori.”

His coworker’s only response is to point to the code of conduct on the wall. _No swearing or abusive behaviour_ is underlined in many different colours. No one ever pays any attention to it.

\--- 

“Everything ok?” Fili debates sitting on the same step as the strange man, but then thinks the better of it. He takes the step above, resting his feet against the next. It’s cold out, and he’s glad for the warmth of his coffee.

The man isn’t responding, staring out into space. From the angle that Fili’s sitting at, he can just about see the scar that Balin talked about, petering off into his hairline. He can also see Balin’s point – he’s neatly dressed and his hands are clean and well cared for. It’s only the slightly unkempt hair and beard that make him look homeless.

“Are you ok?” Fili repeats, louder and slower.

He doesn’t get a response.

This is bloody ridiculous.

Sure, Fili gets paid, but normally to deal with papers and computers. Normally it’s Balin and Dwalin that deal with _actual real life people_ , and they don’t tend to worry that they’ll say the wrong thing and break someone.

“What’re you looking at?” He scoots down to the same step as the stranger and tries to follow his eyes. All he sees is Greenleaf and the vague shadow of the Blue Mountains in the distance. Nothing that would hold his attention for the amount of time the strange man’s been distracted, anyway. “The mountains?” No response, again. “My uncle – he’s the MP here, this is his office you’re, uh… camping outside of – says that they’re full of caves. Like rabbit warrens, but for human sized rabbits.”

The man looks at him.

Fili unwraps a hand from his mug of coffee and gives him a wave. “I’m Fili. I work here.” 

_”No, you stupid great machine, don’t print that!”_

“And that’s my brother, Kili. He also works here. Sort of. In a non-nepotistic way.”

_”You’re a sodding great useless lump and I’m going to set fire to you and sell you for scrap metal will you please stop doing that!”_

“He doesn’t like our printer.” Fili explains. 

The stranger’s interest seems caught now that Fili’s talking about his brother. It’s an odd thing to be caught by, but then, Kili’s an odd person, he supposes.

"We've called it Smaug. Kili's idea. It's evil." He continues, spurred on by the interest. "Kili has an... overactive imagination, I guess. He's my baby brother." The man nods. "So... do you have siblings?"

The man shakes his head. Fili pauses momentarily, a little shocked at getting a response. The stranger shakes his head again, and then nods.

Well, maybe it wasn't response. Maybe he's got bees in his ears.

"You... do?" The man shakes his head. Bugger. "Sort... of?" This gets a vehement nod. So at least Fili's learnt _something_.

He breathes out slowly, watching his breath in the air. The other man is wrapped up warm. Fili left his jacket on the back of Kili's chair. "Come on, it's cold." He stands up and offers his hand to the stranger. "I'm freezing my balls off here. Let's have a cup of tea inside."

The man doesn't take his hand, but follows him inside readily enough.

Kili is lying on the floor in front of the printer.

"I've been kidnapped by the goblin king!" He moans, rolling onto one side and swooning melodramatically. 

"Printer not working again?" Fili asks Ori, stepping over his little brother to get to the kettle.

"I can't get him off the floor." Ori says worriedly. "He's been there at least five minutes. Nori won't help me." The other man in the room cackles. 

"The goblin king!" Kili repeats louder, thrashing on the floor. "The goblin king has taken me!"

"Do you remind him of the babe?"

" _Not that sort of goblin king!_ " Kili sits up, pointing at him accusingly, before flopping back onto the wooden floor of the office.

"If you say so." Fili stares at their eclectic collection of teas and coffees scattered across their tiny kitchenette. "Uh..." He looks back at the stranger, who's staring at Kili with a look that might be confusion. "Kili, get off the floor, you're scaring our guest."

"Can't." As Kili says this, Smaug makes a terrible clatter. His little brother jumps to his feet, muttering swear words under his breath. "We need a sodding new printer, this one's a bloody _dinosaur_."

"If you want to sit down, sir," Ori sidesteps around a rampaging Kili to deal with the stranger. "Fili will bring you a cup of tea in a minute. Don't mind Kili. He's just... Kili."

"Praise the Lord, Erebor will have an Arkenstone after all!" Kili shouts.

Fili kicks him on his way to present the stranger with a cup of tea. "Behave yourself."

And, miracle of miracles, Kili settles down.

\--- 

Little brothers have their uses.

Fili had set Kili on stranger duty whilst he did actual work, and it was definitely one of his better ideas. (At least, he _thinks_ it is. There are rather strange noises coming from the table in the corner.)

He scans in a plea from one of the Gamgees about school places and forwards it onto Gloin. He's about to put the scanner away again when Thorin puts his head around the door. "Lunch, boys?"

"Yes please!" Kili shouts. 

"Nori, Ori? Shall we order from Bombur, or did you two bring your own?" 

"Dori made us-"

"Bombur's Bombur's Bombur's!" Nori shouts over the top of his little brother (they _are_ a bit worryingly nepotistic, Fili realises, but he supposes that it can't be helped in a town such as Erebor.)

"Dori _does_ always put green stuff in my sandwiches."

"No green stuff for Ori." Thorin notes, a smile playing about his lips like it does when Kili's particularly peculiar. "Anyone else?" 

"Would you like something from Bombur's?" Kili asks their guest. The stranger grunts - the first sound that Fili's heard him make - and taps his chest with a fist. "Uh... You're going to have to be a bit clearer than that."

(He isn't.)

(Although he does _try_ , and so does Kili, and he can see his little brother getting more and more frustrated, because Kili loves talking to people and communicating. And the stranger seems nice.)

"Hey." Fili looks up at the clock. "It's half twelve and no Sackville-Bagginses. Did we place bets?"

"They must have got held up." Nori grumbles, digging into his pocket. 

"No paying back until the day's over." Balin says mildly, looking at Nori over his glasses. "You know the rules."

"Delivery coming in twenty minutes." Thorin reports. "Now get to work. There are far too many empty envelopes surrounding you, Kili."

"Yes Thorin." Kili ducks his head back down.

Twenty minutes passes quite quickly when you're entering survey data on the new Gandalf system. It's not one of Fili's favourite jobs, not when it's a survey that's been sent to the entirety of bloody Erebor. It's seriously making him consider never catching an Eagle Bus again.

There's a quiet tap on the door. "I come bearing lunch." 

"Yes!" Ori ducks as the pile of envelopes Kili's holding go _everywhere_.

"Excellent." Thorin takes the box of food the cook offers. "That's brilliant, Bombur. How much do we-?"

Bombur walks straight past him. He won't even accept a cup of tea, normally. "Bifur, what are you doing here?"

And the stranger at the table grunts twice, in something that sounds almost like words.

"Well." Kili says after a pause. "That solves _that_ problem."

\--- 

“Can I have it yet?” Kili asks for the third time, still picking up envelopes on the floor. The rest of them have given up doing work for the time being, eating their own sandwiches. Fili has his feet up on Kili’s chair, half an eye on Bifur, who has another mug of tea.

“Have you picked up the envelopes?” Balin eyes him over his reading glasses.

“Almost.”

“No, Ori, _don’t_ help him.”

When Kili’s envelopes had gone everywhere, they had gone _everywhere_. Under the desks, into the kitchen, lurking in the dark caverns in which Smaug inhabited… there had even been one in the biscuit tin. Fili doesn’t know _how_ he does it.

Bifur grunts something and taps Kili on the shoulder. His little brother jerks upright and smacks his head on the table. “ _Ow_ \- wha – oh. Thanks.” He grabs the envelope the other hands him. “There. That’s all. Can I have my sandwich now?”

Thorin, who’s just come back from a cigarette and is putting his phone away (probably a call from Dwalin, it normally is), grabs the last sandwich out the box and hands it to his nephew.

There’s a knock on the door. “Hello?”

Thorin swallows his mouthful of coffee. “We’re having a lunch break, I’ll start surgeries again in –”

“No, no.” The constituent enters the room, hands held high as though Thorin’s aiming a weapon at him. “No, I’m not here for that. I’m here for my cousin – Bifur?” Bifur grunts something that sounds like words – like he had when he’d spoken with Bombur – and the stranger laughs. He’s a smiley stranger, even when he’s not smiling, Fili decides. There’s a crinkle around his eyes, an air that – well, it actually reminds him of Kili, a little. “I’m terribly sorry he’s been so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, laddie.” Balin pats Bifur’s shoulder carefully. “You go along with your cousin then.”

“It’s been lovely meeting you!” Ori pipes up, still methodically removing all the pieces of lettuce from his sandwich.

“Come on, Bifur.” The stranger holds open the door. “Back to the shop. And thanks, again.”

Most unusually for his uncle, Thorin hasn’t said a word. Fili and Kili look at each other, Kili’s eyes dancing as he bolts down his sandwich. “What?” Thorin demands, catching their looks.

“Nothing!” Kili sing-songs through his mouthful. “Something caught your eye, Uncle?”

There is a pause.

“You do realise you’ve got to sort all those envelopes back into street order, don’t you?”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Surgeries: meetings constituents have with their MPs to raise issues with them.  
> [2] Arkenstone: in this context, it's the monthly newsletter that Thorin/the Dwarvish Party send out to their constituents.  
> [3] Survey data: normally attached to Arkenstones, this is the job for unlucky interns and volunteers - _and there's so much of it._  
>  [4] Yes, Gandalf is a computer.
> 
> I sort of picture the constituency of Erebor as a place like the Forest of Dean - small and rural, but with a mining background. It's why everyone knows everyone and is most probably related to them. Also loosely based on my own work as a volunteer for my local political party, but I don't lie in front of our printer when it stops working (we also don't have an MP, so apologies for any inaccuracies there!)


	2. The Erebor By-Election

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I AM SO SO SORRY. IT DOESN'T NORMALLY TAKE ME TWO MONTHS TO UPDATE THINGS, BUT I'VE MANAGED TO GAIN A JOB, QUIT THE JOB, WORK A BY-ELECTION, GET PILED ON WITH ASSIGNMENTS AND THEN HAVE TO SORT OUT MY DISSERTATION. MY APOLOGIES!]
> 
> The story of the Erebor by-election, two years before the previous chapter.

_balin help I’m lost._

_don’t tell the others._

_No problem laddie. Where are you? What can you see around you?_

_there are trees._

\---

 

Kili’s pretty sure that ‘cutting and sticking’ was _not_ something that he was told he’d be doing when he signed up for this by-election.

 

And if he gets one more paper cut he’s going to start addressing envelopes in blood, he _is_.

 

In the corner by the evil demon printer, Balin chuckles.

 

“What’s so funny?” Kili asks suspiciously, worried that the researcher is laughing at him. It would be terribly unprofessional, but Balin’s basically his uncle, so he guesses the normal work behaviour rules go out the window.

 

“Nothing, laddie,” Balin puts his phone away. “Are you done with those post-its yet?”

 

Kili shakes his head and gets back to work, under the watchful eye of Oin. The pile seems never ending: surely it would be easier to stick real post-it notes on these leaflets? He opens his mouth to suggest as much when the printer makes a loud noise and then falls silent.

 

“It’s possessed!” Nori hurries across to the machine. It’s the first time Kili’s ever heard him speak, he thinks. “Shit!”

 

Across the table, Oin puts down the envelopes he’s been writing on and goes to help.

 

“Think we should call it Smaug,” Kili mutters under his breath. He smacks down the next post-it note slightly more violently than the piece of paper deserves, because he’s been banned from going near the printer after he headbutted it in frustration last week.

 

There’s a deep chuckle behind him. “That’s a bit harsh on the poor thing, isn’t it?” he tilts his head up to look at Dwalin, who’s got a mug of tea cupped between his hands to try and warm them up. “All its done is be vaguely incompetent, not be threatening and corrupt and force a by-election.”

 

“Yet,” Kili holds up a finger, “ _Yet_.”

 

Dwalin ruffles his hair, “If you say so.”

 

There’s another loud noise from the printer and the office is filled with the sounds of rumbling again, which makes the trio in the corner cheer. “Brother,” Balin looks up, “weren’t you out with Thorin?”

 

The younger Fundin’s eyes widen. “You mean… oh bollocks.” He rushes off.

 

“Your uncle will give us all a heart attack before polling day.” Balin confides, taking the seat across from Kili. “Pass some of those post-its over, laddie? We need to start sending these out tomorrow.” He shoves a bundle over with a barely disguised sigh of relief.

 

“So is Thorin –” the shrill sound of Balin’s phone cuts Kili off.

 

“Hello, where would you like a pickup –” a strange look settles across Balin’s face. “That’s… I see. Where are you, do you remember?”

 

“Thorin?” Kili mouths to Balin, but the older man shakes his head.

 

“Don’t panic, lad. We’ll find your route,” Balin lowers his phone. “Dwalin!” There’s an edge of panic to his voice that Kili’s not used to hearing. “Dwalin, get your car, get it _now_!”

 

“What’s going on?” no one answers Kili. Nori meets his eyes and shrugs; outside, Dwalin’s car door slams and the engine revs. Balin comes back in still on the phone.

 

“Just stay on the phone and stay calm; Dwalin will be there soon. Would you like to speak to your brother?”

 

Kili blinks as the phone is thrust at him. “Fili? What’s going on?” he balances the phone on his shoulder at Oin’s hand gestures and attempts to multitask talking and sticking post-its. Elections stop for no one, after all.

 

“I’ve… I’ve been locked in a cupboard,” Fili’s voice is shaky, “by one of the residents.”

 

“ _Seriously?_ ”

 

“No, I just made it up because I’m secretly working for the fucking Elves and want Thorin to lose, _yes seriously,_ you tree-hugger.”

 

“Well,” Kili swallows, “do they really hate us that much?”

 

“I haven’t a clue; I was bloody canvassing and then –” Balin’s phone beeps, “shit, what’s that?”

 

“Must be someone wanting a lift,” he grimaces at the phone owner, who holds out his hand. “I’ll be back in a minute, Fee. It’s Dain, and you know he’s still pissed about losing the selection.”

 

“Kili, wait –”

 

Kili returns to the post-its with new vigour, whilst Smaug trundles along in the background. “Mam is going to _kill_ Thorin,” he hands a set of completed Arkenstones to Oin with half an eye still on Balin, who’s gesturing at the only person left in the room with a _Driver_ badge – Nori.

 

The redhead gives Kili a small wave and grabs a pen to note down the address, before disappearing out the door.

 

A new thought occurs to Kili. “Does this _normally_ happen?”

 

“It’s not an everyday occurrence, no,” Balin looks over his glasses at him, and he takes the hint to talk and work. “Normally we just have incidents with other activists or do-not-knock lists.”

 

“Is Crazy Brother Kidnapper on one of those lists?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of, laddie,” Balin sighs. “Not that I’m aware of.”

 

\---

 

When Fili comes back, he looks a lot smaller than Kili remembers. He only just stops himself from clambering onto his big brother’s lap like he used to do when he was small and Fili was upset. But he’s a bit big for that now.

 

“Are you ok?” he fights his way through teeming activists, “We were worried, Fee!”

 

“Not half as worried as I was,” Fili responds, but he’s shaky and he balls his fists in Kili’s hoodie and they hug for longer than they normally do. “It was a… very _small_ cupboard.”

 

“S’alright,” Kili mumbles into his older brother’s hair, “you’re a very small person.” He grins when Fili pinches his stomach.

 

Behind them, Balin clears his throat. “Can we switch you in, Kili?”

 

“Wha?” slowly, Kili lets go of Fili, who immediately goes scavenging for tea and biscuits.

 

“We need to keep canvassing, but I’d rather keep Fili in here for the time being,” Kili watches Dwalin hand Fili a pot of sugar, and he nods. “But losing numbers…”

 

“Thorin said I’m not allowed.”

 

“Thorin’s not here,” Balin gives him a wry grin, “and we’d send you with someone else, of course. And you’d be under strict instructions to avoid all cupboards, even if the owners promise you that you can get to Narnia through it.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Fili pops out of nowhere, leering over his shoulder. “Kili’s never been to Narnia.”

 

He slaps at his brother, “It’ll get me away from this bastard, so sure.” Kili ducks the shouts of _“Language!”_ directed at him from every adult in the room. “Who’s babysitting me?”

 

Balin squints at the room for a few minutes – long enough for Kili to think that the man had gone senile and forgotten – before beckoning Dori over. “Could you do this ward?” He hands the two of them a large pile of leaflets. “If you start at Pearl Crescent, it’ll curve around to Seedpearl Lane, Pearl Close and the Baroque Pearl Estate.”

 

It’s phrased like a question, but Kili knows it’s not. So that’s how he ends up canvassing in the Baroque Pearl Estate, even though both Thorin _and_ his mam have said they don’t really like the idea of him going out.

 

“ _Ow_ , Christ on a _bike_!” Kili swears, attempting to free his fingers from the Letterbox Of Doom in front of him. “Are those _spikes_?”

 

They are, actually. There are spikes in the inside of the letterbox. Kili gets _all_ the luck.

 

He looks up the road to see if Dori’s watching him, which he isn’t. He can barely see Dori, way ahead and chatting with a little old lady. Kili trudges back down the path and down the next one, humming under his breath.

 

“Hi!” he says, as soon as the door opens, “My name’s Kili, and I’m here on behalf of Thorin Oakenshield and the Dwarf –”

 

“Not interested,” the person on the other side grunts, “piss off.”

 

Kili blinks at the closed door and sighs, heading back out the gate. That’s not the first bad reaction he’s had today, and it won’t be the –

 

“Well, well,” a voice chuckles behind him. “And what do we have here?”

 

He stops, takes a deep breath and turns around. “Hi,” his eyes flick to the rosettes on the three strangers’ lapels. Goblin Party.

 

 _Bloody brilliant_.

 

“What are you doing here, Dwarfling brat?” The tallest one shoves his shoulder and Kili takes a step back.

 

“Just – just –”

 

“These are _our_ streets.”

 

Kili frowns, a safe enough distance away to respond. “It’s a street. No one owns it. I’m just –” rough hands grab at the pile of leaflets he’s holding. “Hey! Give those back!”

 

“Erebor Dwarves chose Thorin Oakenshield as their candidate,” another Goblin party member reads out. He’s got a squeaky voice. “No mention of your fucking mental last MP, I see.”

 

“You shut up!” the shout rips itself from Kili’s throat. “This has _nothing_ to do with Gra – Thror, you fuck off!” He unwisely takes a step forward, and then realises he only comes up to the smallest Goblin’s shoulder, and tries to take a step back, but he’s caught now. “Just give me my leaflets back.”

 

“You Dwarves are all poofs anyway. You won’t get anyone voting for you _here_.”

 

Kili jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. “I think we’ll let the voters decide that, don’t you?” Dori asks mildly. “Now, if you’ll hand me those leaflets, we’ll be on our way.”

 

“Piss off, you old faggot!” he happens to know that Dori’s _not_ gay – at least, he doesn’t think so, he wears a wedding ring – but the hand on his shoulder tightens. “Get off our streets!”

 

“The _leaflets_.”

 

“Dori.” Kili squeaks, taking another step back until he hits the comforting warmth of the chairman’s body. “Dori, can we just go, please?”

 

“We’re taking the leaflets, Kili.”

 

The Goblin holding the leaflets fucking _cackles_ and waves them about like he’s tempting a dog. Something in the laugh, something in the undertone of the scene, something that he’s not really sure of, makes his stomach drop. “Dori.”

 

Dori looks down at him, and then back at the Goblins, and then to Kili again. “Alright,” he says reluctantly, “but I’m lodging a complaint.”

 

\---

 

Kili steals an agent pass and sneaks past security so he doesn’t have to sit swinging his feet with the other activists – with _Dain_ , who seems to hate all Durins since he lost the selection – and hides at the back of the hall. His mam turns up around half ten, looking tired but lively, and Thorin himself turns up later, with only brief mutterings about getting lost in Ruby Close for three hours and doing some spontaneous canvassing.

 

Unfortunately, he can’t convince _anyone_ that he’s eighteen, and so is boringly sober.

 

“Alright, Kee?” Dis ruffles his hair as he shuffles closer to her. “Hey, no, can I see that ballot again please?”

 

The council worker glares up at her.

 

“Can I see that ballot please?” his mam repeats, and the man the other side shows her it. “Thank you.” She marks it down on her sheet and keeps going.

 

He wants to go over to Fili, but Fili’s engaged in an argument with the returning officer about the pile of spoilt ballots, so it’s not a good idea. Thorin, however, has been banned by Balin and Dori from overseeing the count, so he goes to sit with him.

 

“I hear from Dori you two got into some trouble today?” he says instead of ‘hello’.

 

Kili shrugs, “S’alright.”

 

“Sorry laddie,” Balin suddenly appears from nowhere and leans over Thorin’s shoulder to whisper something.

 

Thorin groans and stands up, patting Kili’s shoulder in apology. “We’re almost done, Kee.”

 

Kili tries to figure out the result from Thorin’s face, but his uncle is _annoyingly good_ at poker. He tugs the cord of his hoodie and sulks. Nori takes Thorin’s vacated seat, dragging along a shy looking boy, who Kili _knows_ only has a guest pass because he keeps looking around nervously.

 

“S’up?” Nori chirps, “This is my brother, Ori. He’s the good brother.”

 

“I thought Dori was the good brother?”

 

“Ok, maybe I’m just the –”

 

 _“Vygwyn Butterbur, of the Rhovanion Regionalist, one thousand, nine hundred and thirty three votes,”_ the microphone booms over the top of them. Ori squeaks and smacks Nori’s arm to make him shut up.

 

“You should probably go and stand with your mum and Fili,” Nori mutters. “Being as you guys were on his ‘hard-working non-incestuous family man’ leaflets.”

 

Kili does as he’s told, missing the results for the Longbeard Militia and the Sindarin People’s Front, but neither of them appear to have rocked the boat, judging from Dis’ bored face. He punches Fili’s shoulder in greeting.

 

_“Greenleaf, Thranduil, of the Elf Party, ten thousand, nine hundred and seventy votes.”_

 

“Fucking hell,” Fili turns his head so the cameras don’t read his lips. “That’s a winning amount.”

 

“Has Thorin lost –?”

 

_“…People’s Front of Sindar, four hundred and fifteen votes.”_

“Don’t know, shut up!” Fili hisses. Dis raises an eyebrow at the two of them, and they both shut up.

 

“ _Durin, Thorin Oakenshield, of the Dwarf Party, eleven thousand, five hundred and forty three votes.”_

Thorin’s eyes widen, and he gives them a thumbs up, but Kili thinks Fili’s too busy dancing on the spot to notice. Over in the corner, Nori, Ori and Dwalin are doing some sort of bizarre tribal hug movement.

 

“We haven’t won yet,” Dis reproves them. “So don’t –”

 

The room falls silent for the last tally, after a particularly stern glare from the returning officer.

 

_“Smaug, Dragon, of the Goblin Party, ten thousand, five hundred and –”_

Kili doesn’t hear the rest, because Nori and Dwalin start yelling, and Fili’s caught him around the waist and is hugging him so hard that he can’t _breathe_ and when Thorin finishes his winner’s speech – _they won, they beat Smaug, Smaug didn’t even come second, they fucking won!_ – he piles in, tugging Dis with him in a giant pile of Durin hugs. It’s not very dignified, and Kili’s sure Thranduil Tightarse (a name that Thorin came up with after a particularly tense second hustings) is going to go out and write a leaflet about how inappropriate it is, but he’s too happy to care right now.

 

“Hey,” he disentangles himself from the Durin-pile. “Does that mean no more leaflets?”

 

Thorin looks at him, laughs, and pulls him back in.

 

\---

 

_help nori i’m still lost and balin said he would send dwalin but he’s not appeared. i'm on ruby close?_

_np bossman coming to rescue you now_

_DO NOT MOVE_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] By-election: an election that doesn't happen when a normal one does. Called for circumstances like deaths and MPs resigning.  
> [2] Counting agents: party political people that run around and watch votes being counted by the council workers (non-partisan) and have the power to challenge ballots.  
> [3] Returning officer: general overseer, non-partisan, has to check all spoilt ballots.  
> [4] Hustings: pre-election debates for voters to quiz candidates.
> 
> I actually went through and worked out all the election stuff for this - there is now a note on my computer of the turnout and the electorate of Erebor and how many spoilt ballots there were. NONE OF WHICH IS RELEVANT.
> 
> All the political shenanigans have happened (we had a campaigner locked in a cupboard in a recent election, there were reports last year of campaigners being chased off streets, I got lost delivering late at night, letterboxes are seriously evil beasts), in case they seem weird.
> 
> Thank you for the feedback on the last chapter, it was wonderful :)


	3. A Wee Bit Less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin hates his life, Thorin is hopeless with small children, and Dwalin and Nori should never be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [REALLY SORRY. BALIN WOULDN'T PLAY BALL WITH ME. This is also unbetaed because my beta's having a social life. I've tried to pick up my political jargon, but if I miss anything let me know and I'll add it <333]
> 
> Also this is now part of a series because the [Fitz]Ri brothers wouldn't sod off. So if you want to know more about them, ["Same Ghosts"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/840826) has their backstory.
> 
>  **Warning** for mentions of a dog attack and hospitals.

**THREE.**

“If you’re naked over there, Master Nori, I’m rendering the two of you homeless,” Balin keeps his eyes _firmly_ fixed on the coffee machine to protect what little is left of his sanity. _One_ glimpse of his brother’s hand up someone’s shirt is _plenty_ for a Thursday morning, thank you very much.

 

“I don’t live here,” Nori points out, shoving Dwalin off him until there’s enough space for him to hop off the counter.

 

“Neither do I!” protests Dwalin, smoothing down what’s left of his hair.

 

His older brother ‘hmms’ in a way that hopefully conveys to Dwalin _exactly_ what he thinks of that claim, but he pushes a mug of coffee across to Nori anyway. It’s best not to make Nori feel unwelcome or out of place. Dwalin and Thorin would kill him, for one thing, and he was a damn good worker, for another.

 

“How’s your brother, Nori?” he asks as he rummages through the fridge for breakfast. “Dwalin, you’re eating me out of house and home.”

 

“I don’t live here half the week!” is shouted down the stairs in response as Dwalin stomps up them to continue getting dressed.

 

“Which?” Nori asks, hands playing with the coffee cup.

 

“Well, I see Ori daily…” Balin watches him spin the cup around, but not spill a drop. It’s something that Nori does when he’s feeling awkward or apologetic, this he knows.

 

“Dori’s good,” Nori says with a nod, whilst there are loud thumps from upstairs that suggests Dwalin’s fallen over trying to get his trousers on. “Got a new tea supplier, but I don’t think he’s too keen on them. Says something about the mint blend being too harsh.”

 

Balin is not a tea drinker (tea is not strong enough to deal with Thorin. Now, _heroin_ on the other hand…), but he finds himself making a noise of agreement. “I’m sure he’ll figure something out.”

 

“As long as it doesn’t involve broken hearts,” the younger raises his mug to his lips, “Like that woman who used to come in on Tuesdays to help him with baking, then I’m alright with whatever he does.”

 

“What happened with her, in the end?”

 

“Ori smacked her with one of his politics textbooks.” Nori isn’t Balin’s type – he doesn’t _have_ a type, so far as he knows – but when he grins his eyes crease, and Balin thinks that maybe, yes, he can see what’s got his younger brother infatuated.

 

As one, the two in the kitchen look up when Dwalin stomps (he doesn’t have another setting) along upstairs. Balin’s eyes narrow as he realises Dwalin’s in _his_ room. “Brother?”

 

“I’m out of socks!” Dwalin shouts back down.

 

“Keep your grubby hands off –” He closes his eyes as he hears the drawers open and close. “I’m going to knock his head off with an axe one day.”

 

“Ok,” Nori shrugs and Balin perhaps should be a _little_ affronted at how his brother’s boyfriend doesn’t seem too bothered about the prospect of his impending murder. “Just do it outside, else you might get blood on the carpet. It’s a bitch to get out.”

 

Ah yes, Balin remembers as Dwalin thumps back down the stairs, fully dressed this time. He keeps forgetting Nori has spent a decent proportion of his life in _prison_. For the sake of his sanity (he works in an office with two point five Durins and his younger brother, he _needs_ to keep it), he doesn’t ask how Nori knows about hypothetical blood on hypothetical carpets.

 

“Are you two delivering today?” he changes the subject to make sure he doesn’t accidentally ask. “I remember hearing Thorin…”

 

The redhead nods over his cup of coffee, “Dwalin lost the bet.”

 

“Because you and Thorin are dirty bastard cheaters!” Dwalin hollers down the stairs. Balin sighs as he finishes up the dregs of his coffee. Once upon a time, his house was quiet and calm.

 

And then Dwalin’s bathroom floor collapsed into the kitchen and he made camp in Balin’s spare room over weekends.

 

Bloody little brothers.

 

\---

 

Thorin is laughably awkward around small children, considering that he’s raised his nephews from childhood.

 

And of course, small children – much like cats, which are _another_ thing that Thorin’s not too fond of, mostly because when he does wandering surgeries around Emerald Lane there are about three that follow him down the road – are drawn to people who don’t like them.

 

“I’m reconsidering your parenting abilities,” Balin mutters as Thorin gulps down a cup of coffee gratefully. There is a big sign up above him made of the sort of paper you only get in schools – large and beige – and it has lots of tiny handprints surrounding the words ‘we like politics’.

 

(Really, there could be much _better_ slogans for Erebor Primary’s Civic Week.)

 

“Me?” Thorin widens his eyes. He looks worryingly like an older Kili for a second. “I’m sure Fili and Kili wasn’t this small,” he adds when Balin arches an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

“Kili, at the very least, was smaller,” Balin corrects. “Dwalin used to be able to fit him in the palm of his hand, remember?”

 

“I think that was more the fact your brother’s freakishly huge, to be honest.”

 

Balin is about to respond when something small wriggles between them and tugs on Thorin’s sleeve. “’Scuse me, Mr Oakenshield sir,” it’s a little girl, her dark thick hair tied up in tiny braids that are twisting out in all directions.

 

“Hello,” Thorin goes down on one knee to hear her, because she’s small and, whilst he’s not Dwalin, he’s still rather tall. “What’s your name?”

 

“Doryan,” the little one says. Balin steps away because it’s almost time for Thorin’s question session and he needs to make sure everything’s set up. “Are you a king, Mr Oakenshield?”

 

Balin grins to himself as he walks out of earshot.

 

 _How’s the delivering going?_ He sends to his brother, grin widening at the idea of Dwalin struggling with letterboxes. Thorin’s not incorrect to suggest that he’s got hands that are slightly larger than most of the Dwarves; the idea of Dwalin trying to slide them through letterboxes is something Balin would pay to see.

 

His phone, however, remains stubbornly silent. Which is probably a good thing, as Thorin takes the stage just moments later, little Doryan sitting in the front row and loudly _shhh!_ ing her classmates.

 

“Good morning everyone,” Thorin would never admit it, but he really _does_ have a ‘child voice’.

 

“Go-od mor-ning Mis-ter Oak-en-shield,” a classroom full of wee children chant as one, and make Balin grin. “Go-od mor-ning ev-ry-one.”

 

“Does anyone know what my job is?”

 

A flurry of hands shoot up, waving frantically. Thorin points to a little boy in the third row with long blonde hair that trails down his back. “Soldier!”

 

“Not that – but I _used_ to be, so well done. How about you?”

 

“King!”

 

“He’s not a king, _silly_!” Doryan hisses loud enough to wake up a petrified troll.

 

At this moment, Balin’s phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He raises a hand just to catch Thorin’s eye and gestures to the door. Thorin nods as he congratulates a girl for guessing correctly. Balin steps out the door.

 

He doesn’t recognise the number calling him, but that’s nothing unusual. It’s around lunchtime, so Fili and Ori probably aren’t answering the office phones, which means they’ve set it to ring to Balin for any diary clashes.

 

“Balin Fundin, how may I help?” he says politely, staring at the scrubbed red brick of the school walls. He’d sit down, if the seats surrounding him weren’t for tiny children.

 

“Mr Fundin, my name’s Rhynnyn, I work at the hospital,” the world stops spinning for a second. Balin forces himself to concentrate. “I’m ringing about your brother Dwalin?”

 

“What’s – what’s happened?” he breathes sharply through his nose.

 

Rhynnyn seems to realise that he’s being ambiguous, because his voice suddenly quickens. “Oh, it’s nothing – well it’s nothing _too_ serious, he’s just –”

 

“What has happened?” Balin repeats.

 

There is a scuffle the other end of the phone and a very familiar voice is muttering something. He pinches the bridge of his nose as there are several distinct _thumps_. “Balin?” Nori sounds a little bit out of breath. “Sorry, I would have called you myself but –”

 

“What’s going on, Nori?” he grits his teeth.

 

“Right, sorry,” the pause that follows almost makes Balin throw his phone. His temper isn’t half as bad as his brother’s, but it’s still there, simmering on the back burner. “We – well, Dwalin – there was a –”

 

“ _Nori_.”

 

“Dwalin got into an altercation with a dog,” Nori says it all in a rush. “And I don’t think it’s going to be voting for Thorin.”

 

Balin unleashes a stream of curses that should _not_ be said in a primary school and hangs up. He debates punching the wall, but then remembers he’s the brains of the Erebor Dwarves. He needs both hands.

 

(To wrap around his little brother’s throat and throttle him.)

 

He re-enters the classroom to see that chaos has reigned supreme in the five minutes he’s been gone. The children have got bored of questions and the teacher – Balin can’t remember her name – is _highly amused_. He wades his way through the sea of wee things.

 

“Dwalin’s in hospital,” Balin says in as quiet a tone as he can, when he manages to get to Thorin.

 

There are small children clambering all over Thorin, fascinated by his hair and braids. It will make a great photograph, the politician part of Balin’s brain murmurs, already shouted down by the worried big brother section. He dislodges a child that’s trying to shove its hand in his mouth and looks at him, “Go.”

 

\---

 

When Balin gets to the hospital, Nori is sitting in the waiting room with a blank face.

 

“Nori?” he says, slowing his pace.

 

No one Balin knows has spent more time in hospitals than his little brother's boyfriend. It's probably why Nori doesn't look that concerned, hunched over on one of the uncomfortable orange chairs.

 

That's what he thinks at first, and then he notices the incessant  _tap tap_ of the redhead's foot on a peeling iron chair leg.

 

"Alright, laddie?" He says as he gets closer.

 

Nori jumps and looks up, looking guilty, "I didn't -"

 

"I don't know how you lot manage to do this," he sits down heavily on the seat next to him. "I go out, or Ori, or Dis - or  _Dain_ \- and we return with nothing more than paper cuts. You -"

 

Nori still has a pile of leaflets clutched in one hand, grubby bitten nails digging into the clean paper. "He's - um - missing a finger. Or - well - bits of one."

 

Oh.

 

Balin mulls this over in his head. It’s actually quite impressive, he supposes. Dwalin doesn’t do things by half.

 

"Evening brother!" As it turns out, incredibly-drugged-up-Dwalin is not dissimilar to please-stop-drinking-with-Nori-and-Dis-Dwalin. Balin's not quite sure what to make of it.

 

"It's not evening," he settles on eventually, half an eye on Nori, who looks more jittery than he has in months. "It's lunch time."

 

"Sit down before you knock something over, you big oaf," Nori shoots Balin a fleeting nervous glance (and oh _damn_ , Dori's going to kill him), and Dwalin chuckles; rocking back and forth on his heels.

 

"I would have thought you'd have enough sense by now," Balin scolds, taking his elbow, "so as to not go sticking your fingers in large dogs' mouths."

 

Dwalin's left hand is entirely swathed in bandages, so he's got no way of telling which finger has a wee bit missing. There's also no way he's letting him go to his house alone. Balin quite likes his home in one piece, and he doesn’t think a drugged Dwalin would have _quite_ the same ideas.

 

"Come on then, laddie," he sighs after a moment, Dwalin petting his head with his good hand and a beaming smile. "Time to go. Do you have a prescription?"

 

His little brother stares blankly at him. Apparently prescription was two syllables too long for him to comprehend.

 

"Here," Nori swoops up behind him, his hand ghosting across Dwalin's hip as his hand dives into his boyfriend’s pocket. He hands the scrap of paper over to Balin and drops back again. "I'll see you –"

 

"At the very least, I'm going to need help loading this one in the car," Balin fixes his brother's boyfriend with a firm look, honed after years of babysitting Fili and Kili. "And Dori's is right next to the pharmacy, anyway. It's no trouble." When Nori  _still_ looks hesitant, he adds "I don't blame you, laddie. It's his own stupid fault."

 

"Dori serves tea," Dwalin announces proudly, much to the bewilderment of the men next to him. He then proceeds to burst into childish, easy giggles.

 

Balin takes it as a sign, and takes him to Dori's. If he's lucky, Nori's older brother will turn out to be a secret drug dealer on the side, because he can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

 

Dori takes one look at him and closes the shop.

 

"Save me from the idiocy of second sons," Balin grumbles twenty minutes later as Dori pours him a cup of tea. "He got his  _finger_ bitten  _off._   _Really_?"

 

Dori makes a clucking sound with his tongue – "you sound like a hen!" Nori shouts from the sofa, where he’s settling Dwalin down –and pours a jot of whisky into the tea.

 

"A wee bit more – please," Dori is indeed younger than him, but that doesn't mean he can't be fearsome if he's scolding someone about manners. "A little –"

 

The other man sighs sharply through his nose (if he had children, Balin’s fairly sure they’d be the most well-behaved children in all of Erebor), picks up the empty tea cup and pours neat whisky into it. "Is that better?" He asks sarcastically.

 

Dwalin is still laughing on the sofa, but Balin has a feeling that he doesn't want to look over there, if the mumbling and occasional flashes of red hair in his peripheral vision are any indication. He saw far more than he ever wanted to this morning.

 

Was it only this  _morning_? It feels like at least a month ago.

 

"Looks like I'll be doing the driving for a while then," Balin breaks the comfortable silence they've fallen into. "I don't fancy ending up in a lake somewhere, I think that one would get distracted by a butterfly at the present moment."

 

"Advisable," Dori raises his eyebrows over his mug. "So, where's Thorin?"

 

"Still at..." Balin slumps back in his chair and closes his eyes. "I left him at the school. He's going to be lost, isn't he?"

 

Right on cue, his phone vibrates.  _Is it a left or a right on Green Forest View?_

 

Life is most definitely  _not fair_ , Balin decides, to the sound of his younger brother cackling. How did he even _get_ to Green Forest View from Erebor Primary? Maybe he should change jobs. Go in for something  _easy,_ like rocket science.

 

"I'll be back in a minute," he stands up. "Don't let Nori finish my drink."

 

"Hardly!" Nori shouts, barely visible entangled in Dwalin's arms. "That's the  _good_ whisky. I'm not allowed it."

 

"You don't  _appreciate_ it," Dori corrects with a wrinkle of his nose. "And if I find that either of you are less than fully clothed over there, I'll put up your rent."

 

Nori wrinkles his nose back, muttering something about "bastard older brothers and their stupid alcohol rules." Balin's pocket vibrates. Thorin's probably walked halfway to Rivendell by now.

 

Rocket science is definitely looking like a better job offer. Or maybe parole officer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Delivering: delivering of the leaflets! Not just a campaign activity; right now I think they're just about working up to a local election of some sort. 
> 
> The dog incident was actually based on a story in our campaign hubs. I've yet to work in the second memorable dog incident of the 2013 campaign, but let's just say it involves the line "I'm sorry madam, but I fail to see how one of our leaflets could have made your dog give birth." (Your guess is as good as mine.) I got to watch adorable videos of politicians with tiny wee school children in preparation for this chapter.
> 
> And I should have done this before, but I can be reached on tumblr [here](http://fotheringhay.tumblr.com) if you fancy prodding my brain for headcanon or whatever. I'm trying to be more active in fandom now I'm home for the summer.


	4. Just Focus On Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori worries, he can't help that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** for a panic attack, vague _vague_ mentions of abuse and constituents being bastards.
> 
> [Yeah, I know that last bit's odd, but I managed to trigger myself writing this. It's a very... specific trigger.]

Ori has never left Erebor.

 

Well, no, that's not true. When he was younger sometimes Dori would take him to the beach at Laketown, make a habit of booking at least  _one_ day off every few months (because Dori has always worked too hard) and driving them there.

 

And once, after The Thing with her husband, and Dis and her boys started joining them at Laketown occasionally, once Dis took him to Dale and they saw the sea.

 

But that's it.

 

Only now Ori's going to uni. Ori's going to uni and he's not staying in Erebor because Erebor Uni's English department is "severely lacking", even if their Humanities section is  _so good_.

 

"Ori, love, come down and watch the shop?" Dori shouts up the stairs. Ori slams  _Macbeth_ shut and takes the stairs three at a time to his brother's plaintive cry of "And _be careful_  on the stairs!"

 

"Hi," he smiles at the businesswoman waiting for her coffee. "Won't be a second!"

 

(His smile puts customers at ease. Nori's doesn't.)

 

"Just the ginger peach tea?" He taps it in one-handed, waving to his brother with the other, gives her change for three pounds and points out where the sugar is  _just to the left over there, if it's not stocked up, just let me know!_

 

"If you keep looking like that, your face will stick."

 

"Normally that's not said when someone's  _smiling_ ," he corrects Gimli, wishing he'd brought his book down with him.

 

Gimli's just about the only one of them that doesn't spend all his time at the office. There aren't many Dwarflings in Erebor, and he  _is_ one of them, but he doesn't breathe it like Fili and Kili do, like Ori is learning to.  _I have better things to do with my time,_ he claims."Don't see why not," he says now, leaning on the counter. "If you smile too much it hurts, right?"

 

"'Spose," Ori shrugs. "But in the grand scheme of things -"

 

"Big words!" something flutters in Ori's chest when Kili swoops in, wide wide smile and big skinny fingers waving fiercely. "Gimli's blonde under all that ginger, y'know!"

 

Gimli rounds on him incredulously, reaching out a hand to tug at his mess of wild hair. "And  _who's_  the reason Thorin sent us away?"

 

"What did you  _do_?" Ori sighs, shooing them away from the counter so he can work and talk. "Lemon cake with that?" He asks the old lady who's been patiently waiting. "Sorry about... them."

 

"Dropped on his head when he was a baby," Kili points to Gimli.

 

Ori hides a smile as he plates up lemon cake. There's no sense in encouraging them, after all. He does his best to ignore them as he rings up  _actual_ customers and they bicker in the background.

 

(Kili clings to people, he's noticed. Kili is  _nice_ and  _friendly_ and people honestly like him, but he's not got that many  _friends_. As such, he's... rather full on, with people he knows.)

 

"Say, what's a body got to do to get service around here?" the subject of Ori's daydream slaps the counter in front of him and leans in with a cheeky grin.

 

Ori fastens a hand around Kili's face and uses it to push him away, "Watch out, or I'll charge you  _double_."

 

Kili's grin widens and he licks a his hand. "Can I have a latte with an extra shot and  _all_ the syrups?" he asks as soon as his mouth is free again. " _Please_?"

 

"You're the reason my brother hates serving coffee, y'know that?" Ori sighs as he rings it up. He doesn't bother entering half the syrups, and presses the Dwarf Discount button. "Two thirty seven, you insufferable pest."

 

"I think he likes me!" the younger chatters to Gimli, who only wants a hot chocolate.

Ori's just finishing up making Kili's drink when Dori comes back from wherever he's been and fixes the two rambunctious Dwarflings in his shop with a knowledgeable eye. "Thorin kick you out?"

 

"Kili broke the folding machine."

 

"I  _did not_!"

 

Dori heaves a sigh and shakes his head, "And I suppose you'll be heading back with them, then?" He asks Ori as he unwinds his scarf. "Even though it's your weekend?"

 

"Might do," Ori shrugs. "I haven't got to any of the gruesome murders yet, so it's not as if Macbeth's keeping me."

 

"Far more likely to see a gruesome murder at the office," his older brother nods wisely. "It's still cold. Wrap up warm."

 

Ori makes himself a pot of tea – chamomile and spearmint – and takes himself off to Kili and Gimli's table. "My brother thinks you're trouble," he tells his friends, dragging a spare chair over. "Both of you, probably."

 

"I'm more trouble than he is!" Kili hollers, pointing at Gimli. "Sorry!” he adds in a stage-whisper as Dori glares.

 

Ori grins into his drink, "Did you  _really_ break the folding machine?"

 

"Wasn't me!" the darkest of the three protests. "I just... noticed it."

 

"It's stuck on 'good mornings'," Gimli says through a mouthful of cake. "Your brother called it some  _very_ interesting names."

 

"Mmm, he does that."

 

Kili freezes, his latte halfway to his mouth. His eyes narrow as someone walks past their table and up towards the counter.  _Please don't tell me it's someone else they’ve had a fight with_ , Ori thinks as he twists around to see who he's staring at.

 

The man looks vaguely familiar; a woollen trapper's hat perched precariously on dark hair and a smiling mouth under a frankly bizarre moustache. He seems to know Dori anyhow, or maybe he's just that friendly with everyone.

 

"It's the guy my uncle likes!" Kili hisses, ducking his head when it looks like the customer has seen them.

 

Gimli looks between them interestedly, "The friend of Steps Guy?"

 

His friends are utterly shite at being quiet or subtle, so Ori's quite glad the stranger from a few weeks ago has got off with an innocuous nickname like "Steps Guy", even if it puts images of him doing the dance moves to 'Tragedy' in his head. He still winces at the memory of when Dwalin got so infuriated with a constituent that he termed her "Heinous Pavements Cow" and then blurted it out to her face.

 

(It's one of the many reasons why they don't let Dwalin do constituency work.)

 

Nicknames aside, it  _is_ the man from a few weeks ago. He's amazed that Kili recognises him, considering he spent most of that day on his knees picking up envelopes.

 

"Let's follow him!"

 

"What?" Ori jolts. "Kili,  _no_!"

 

Kili winks, already halfway down the ramp after him, Gimli not far behind. He shoots a helpless look at his older brother, who just rolls his eyes.

 

Muttering about idiotic Dwarflings, Ori pours his tea into a takeaway cup and takes off after them.

 

It's not difficult to follow his friends, or Hat Guy; he's stopped every few minutes by people along the high street to have a conversation, or at least say hello. Most of them are families with children hanging off them, and he kneels to ruffle their hair and ask them _very serious questions_ the way you do with kids.

 

One of them has a dragon toy that he rams into Hat Guy’s leg, and he laughs loud enough for them to hear.

 

“I hope he doesn’t have kids,” Kili murmurs. “Because that normally means a wife, right?”

 

“Not… really?” Ori frowns, blowing on his tea. He’s definitely Dori’s child, and Thorin’s called himself a parent before. “Can we _go_ now?”

 

Kili and Gimli keep running, as though they haven’t heard. They duck around into Blacksmith Alley and he groans, but keeps following. Only to squeak in dismay and run into the back of Kili, who’s stopped dead.

 

“He works in a _toy shop_!”

 

Kili is sixteen. He really shouldn’t sound _that_ excited.

 

\---

 

He wakes with a jolt to find he’s drooling all over the prospectus for Mirrormere University. Ori wipes his mouth groggily and looks across to his digital clock – six forty five.

 

He doesn’t have to be awake for another _hour_ , why on earth –

 

“I’m not a _child_!”

 

“Well, if you’d stop –”

 

Ori groans quietly, as though his brothers can hear him. They haven’t argued in at least three months, so he supposes it was about time they did. But did it _have_ to be before seven in the morning?

 

“Oh _right_.” When Nori laughs, it’s bitter and mocking, and Ori can imagine him squaring up and snarling, like he does. Nori is a feral cat in human form. “Remember, it was _your_ choice to have me here. You fucking _insisted_.”

 

“To get you out of prison,” Dori sounds tired. “Maybe –”

 

“Maybe it was a mistake?” Nori shouts over him, and Ori flinches away from the door. “Maybe you should have left me to rot, huh?”

 

He runs to the bed and burrows into it, shoving his head under his pillow and clutching it against his ears, but it doesn’t quite block out the argument. He hates it when they bring up prison, normally a remotely taboo subject.

 

“Fuck this!” and the door slams, shaking the entirety of the flat. There’s another thump, almost in answer, a few moments later. Ori thinks Dori’s punched something.

 

He falls into an uneasy doze that’s woken by Dori shaking his shoulder.

 

“Come on, darling, you’ll be late,” his older brother is faintly red-eyed, but Ori can’t tell if it’s because he’s tired or because of Nori.

 

“’K,” Ori grumbles. His eyes feel like sandpaper.

 

“Were you going through them again?” Dori asks from the desk, looking down at the array of prospectuses. “You should get more sleep.”

 

“So should you,” he mutters, pulling off his t-shirt and exchanging it for a polo. And then he remembers he’s not supposed to have heard their early morning shouting, but Dori doesn’t seem to have notice.

 

His older brother stares at the prospectuses with a strange look on his face. “Where has time gone?” he says to no one. “You’ve grown up so fast.”

 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

 

Strangely, the atmosphere in the office isn’t much lighter.

 

Nori’s already there, responding to everyone only in grunts and glaring at Gandalf as though the computer system is personally responsible for everything going wrong in his life. His hair is askew, as though he’s been tugging at it, and he’s not shaved.

 

The only bright spot in the office – for Thorin and Balin are sequestered in the inner room with faces like thunder – is the smile and wave Fili gives him. “Can you do some calls for us today?”

 

“To whom?” he takes the offered list and squints at it.

 

“Just party members. See if any of them will help out in the locals, ‘cause we always need more deliverers,” Fili tilts his head. “Hey, this is your first election, isn’t it? You were studying at the last one.”

 

“I went to Thorin’s count,” Ori shrugs, ignoring the tiny smirk that plays about his friend’s lips at the idea of _studying_. “But otherwise… yes, I suppose.”

 

The phones are slightly set apart from the desks, in the vain hope that the background noise won’t bleed into the calls. He settles down on the couch nearest the kitchen and dials the first number. He’s ringing mid-morning; he’s mostly going to hit answerphones.

 

“Hi, I’m Ori, and I’m calling from Erebor Dwarves?” he says to the fifth voicemail. He’s got no idea why he ends it in a question, but pretty much everyone – who isn’t Thorin or Dwalin or _Nori_ (Nori never says his name on the phone unless he’s arguing with a constituent, where it then becomes “Hey, remember the Fitzri who knifed someone in a bar? _He’s got your home address!_ ” in fewer words) – does the same thing. “Just to say that we have the local elections coming up – obviously! – and here at the office we’d really appreciate your help. I hope you’re having a great day,” and then he hangs up.

 

Nori is staring at him from across the office, something indecipherable in his gold-brown eyes. When he realises he’s been caught, he arches an eyebrow. “ _Hope you’re having a great day_?” he mimics. “Dori teach you that?”

 

“It’s _nice_ ,” Ori snaps, and Fili’s head turns between the two like he’s watching a game of tennis.

 

His brother just snorts and shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. He doesn’t catch the words, but the tone makes Ori uneasy, jittering underneath his skin. He returns to the phones with a shaky breath.

 

Ori works his way steadily through the list, putting all his efforts and attention into being particularly charming. He convinces an old lady to do some phonebanking for them, persuades a businessman to renew his membership, congratulates a woman on her first pregnancy.

 

He’s useless at speaking in public, so he could never be a politician. But he likes the thrill of _helping_.

 

It’s almost lunchtime when it happens; Kili and Gimli have invaded the office for their free period, Nori’s gone… somewhere, and Thorin is sitting in the corner, arms folded and glaring at nothing.

 

(Ori’s fairly certain that Thorin _should_ have had meetings and appointments today, but the office is full of whispers instead.)

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi, I’m Ori, and I’m calling from your local Dwarves?” he waits for a response.

 

“And why are you calling me?” It’s sharper than he expects.

 

“Well, um,” he blinks and gathers his thoughts. “We’ve got the local elections coming up soon and –”

 

“My number shouldn’t be on your lists.” _Not_ an answer he expected. “You already take my money, why the hell are you phoning me as well?”

 

“I’m – sorry?” Ori squeaks out. “I was just given a list of members to –”

 

“I don’t _want_ to be hassled by people who have nothing better to do, and I’ve told you lot that before. Are you such lazy bastards that you can’t be bothered to check before you harass hardworking people?”

 

“Sorry,” and it’s so quiet compared with the man on the phone, but something must alert the people in the room because he can sense eyes on him. “I didn’t mean –”

 

“I should _not_ be called! It’s my day off, and the very last thing I need is for some fucking jobsworth to –”

 

The phone is plucked out of his hands and he misses the rest of the rant.

 

“That’ll do,” Thorin says into it, before putting it back down on the cradle. “Ori?”

 

\---

 

He's seen Nori have panic attacks, a detached part of his brain says quietly. When he first got out of prison he had them almost every week, curling in on himself and breathing in a horrible way that made Ori shudder and sometimes he  _whined_ and Ori's brother is cocksure and confident and full of a hundred – a _thousand –_ terrible plans that'll turn Dori's hair greyer and he  _does not whine_.

 

He's never understood before, that feeling of the world pressing in on you and your lungs don't work right and  _oh God the room is spinning_ and no no no  _he's going to be sick_ and he can't stop shaking and he wants to cry but it's  _stuck,_ it's  _stuck in his throat_ and he claws at it to _breathe,_ to  _cry,_ to -

 

– and he  _is_ crying, great heaving sobs and he can only  _imagine_ Thorin's look of utter disdain and – can you fire an intern? Because Ori's going to get fired, if he can't, he can't –

 

"Hey, hey," there are hands cupping his head and Ori  _shrieks_  and the hands are gone. "Ori?" Kili's face swims into view, wide eyed and concerned. And then the back of his head as he turns and says something to someone else.

 

"Sure, that's fine."

 

Kili slips his hand into Ori's loosely and pulls. "C'mon, come with me," he murmurs, and Ori lets him lead the way.

 

Into a stock cupboard, apparently. A stock cupboard mostly still full of, well,  _stock_ , and Kili swears under his breath as he trips over a fire extinguisher.

 

"I'm sorry," Ori says as soon as it's light enough to see Kili’s face; earnest and wide-eyed and worried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, I –”

 

And it’s reminding him of apologising to the man on the phone again and it’s not helping because his chest goes tight again and he starts heaving and his breath catches in his throat _again_ , only to choke on it when Kili’s hand lands very deliberately on the intersection between his neck and shoulder.

 

“It’s ok,” he murmurs, and his eyes get wider as he tries to push the message through. “It’s not your fault, it was Gandalf that compiled the bloody list, and the guy was an arse.”

 

“I should have –”

 

“ _It doesn’t matter_ ,” Kili cuts across him. His eyes are warm and brown and worried. “Outside here, none of that matters, ok? Just – just focus on here, for now. This room.”

 

Ori screws his eyes closed and huffs out a breath through the tightening in his chest. And then another.

 

He focuses hard on the small walls, on the fact there’s no signal there so the guy on the phone can’t come back, but at the thought of that man his vision is tunnelling again and he whines, low in his throat and coughing it out.

 

“Do you need to lie down?” Kili asks softly. “I know it helps Fee. Only,” there’s the _thunk_ of Kili’s school shoe hitting something on the floor of the stock cupboard, “I think we’d have to find another room.”

 

“It’s not a room,” Ori points out, his head light. “It’s a cupboard. The stock cupboard.”

 

The other boy laughs, even though Ori’s not said anything funny. “It’s whatever we want it to be. Nothing else exists, outside, remember? So it can be anything.”

 

The next breath comes easier, and then all of a sudden his knees give way, and with a _“Whoa!”_ Kili is diving forward and there’s a scuffle to get him sat down on a box of A3 paper. Feeling like an idiot, Ori leans forward so he’s resting his head between his wrists, elbows braced against his knees.

 

“It’s ok,” Kili rubs his back. “All ok.”

 

He’s close now, in the half light, peering into Ori’s face like he’s much older than sixteen. His eyebrows are deeply furrowed, and he genuinely seems upset that Ori is. His hands are steady on Ori’s back and he hums an unfamiliar riff. He’s not bothered that he’s missing out, he’s content to sit with Ori until Ori goes back into the main room, and it’s the first time Ori’s ever seen Kili do something that isn’t bounce off the walls and grin.

 

Later, Nori walks him home in silence, darting worried looks to him when he thinks Ori isn’t looking.

 

Someone must have called ahead, because Dori’s shut the shop and is waiting in the living room when they climb the stairs, Nori behind him as though he’s going to collapse.

 

“Oh _darling_ ,” Dori’s voice breaks. Ori stares at his shoes and scuffs one against the doormat, anticipating the hug that his older brother – his mother and his father and pretty much _everything_ – pulls him into.

 

Behind him, Nori squawks in surprise as Dori drags him close as well, until their heads are all pressing together. “My boys,” Dori says quietly, and Ori finally stops shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I'm using "Dwarfling" as the Dwarves' Youth Wing. Like Conservative Future or Liberal Youth, etc.  
> [2] Good Mornings: a type of leaflet sent out on the morning of polling day, ridiculously early. In my party (I've never really seen/inspected any others!) they're folded length ways. As if you were making a fan.  
> [3] [This ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=OiwDHHcHPh0&t=213) is the dance Ori refers to.  
> [4] Locals: local elections (in this case, city/town). Depending on the area, they're either held in "thirds" - a third of councillors every year, with a fourth year for county, or once every four years. Erebor, I think, holds them in thirds.  
> [5] Phonebanking: canvassing someone by phone.
> 
> Words cannot explain how much I hate phonebanking. And phones. Ori's delightful constituent was based on someone another volunteer got when I was in the room. They were fine with it, but it almost set me off in a panic attack and I left the office quickly. The stockroom scene is based on one of my least favourite memories, of working a by-election and just losing it on polling day. As it was, the fact someone took the time out of getting our candidate elected to stay and calm me down (in a stock cupboard!) was such a lovely thing.
> 
> Sorry for the long note, and the delay - I'm revamping the plot of this in my head somewhat. But nevertheless, thanks for reading, and you can reach me [ here](http://fotheringhay.tumblr.com) for prompts/blatherings/watching me going through my writing cycle of "MUST WRITE > OOO DRAGON AGE > BLAH WORDS" :D
> 
> [UPDATE: 31/08/2013 - it might take a bit longer than I expected. Plots are a'whirring. That's what happens when you watch Secret State as inspiration for the next chapter...]


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